The Problem at Hand
by Amarielah
Summary: Lyle Dylandy meets an old friend of the family while in Dublin. Unfortunately, the encounter is not entirely pleasant. Crossover oneshot with Harry Potter.


Summary: Lyle Dylandy meets an old friend of the family while in Dublin. Unfortunately, the encounter is not entirely pleasant. Crossover oneshot with Harry Potter.

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam 00 or Harry Potter.

Warnings: A bit a bad language, some violence, but nothing too bad.

A/N: This plot bunny bit me in the ass and refused to let go.

**The Problem at Hand**

Lyle hadn't been to this part of Dublin for a while. It was grey outside, the clouds hiding the sun completely from view. And although it wasn't raining, it was bitterly cold, and there were still puddles on the sidewalks from the last downpour. Lyle had, during his time in the Middle East, come to appreciate dryness and sun. Really, he didn't like the British Isles all that much (especially now that everyone here seemed to be lapdogs for the Federation). But he had some business to do with one of Katharon's informants based in this area, so there was no helping it.

He shivered, pulling his too-light coat closer around his body, and cursed. Of course he wasn't going to meet the guy in some crowded, public place. But couldn't it have been someplace _inside_? At least then he wouldn't have to wait around with the icy wind blowing through his clothes like they were made of tissue paper. Even worse, the alley he was in was completely empty. There weren't even some dumpsters that he could use as a shield from the unforgiving elements.

"You look close to freezing there, friend."

Lyle was instantly alert, hand coming to rest reassuringly on the gun beneath has coat. "A bird in one hand is worth two in the bush."

"But make sure that the bird doesn't bite off your fingers."

Lyle let go of the gun, although he was still wary. The man knew the code, which was a start. Even if he didn't look the part of the double agent, dressed as he was in mismatched, dirty clothing, his hair wild and unkempt. "Name?" he asked.

The man looked a little hurt. "You mean you don't recognize me, little Lyle? I'm Sean Finnegan." The man had a thick Irish brogue, which Lyle himself had forsaken years ago for a less memorable Union accent.

Instantly, Lyle had his gun out, pointing it directly at the Sean's head. "How do you know my name?" he asked, eyes narrowed but voice nonchalant.

The man raised both of his hands, probably to show that he wasn't armed. Not like that made a difference. "A friend of your parents, I was. Isn't my face the least bit familiar? I used to play with you and Neil when you were wee little brats."

Lyle made sure to keep his expression unchanged, but his mind was running a mile a minute. A friend of his parents? If that was the case, then Lyle had a sinking feeling he knew exactly what this man was. Hesitantly, he lowered his gun, but didn't lower his guard. "What the hell do you people want with me?"

"How cold," said Sean, frowning. "Did you ever stop to think that maybe, just maybe, I wanted to catch up with the son of some old friends?"

"That's about as likely as me wanting to catch up with my parents' old friends."

For the first time, Sean showed a little bit of nervousness as he eyed the gun that was still in Lyle's hands. "Now, now. Is it really necessary to have that thing out?"

"Depends," said Lyle, gripping the gun just a tad tighter. "Where's your wand?"

"Back pocket."

"Okay. But one false move, and we'll have to see if a bullet can work faster than magic." Lyle finally put his gun back into its holster, and Sean finally lowered his hands. "You aren't working for Katharon, are you." It wasn't a question.

"Well, no--not in the strictest sense. But we do have the same goals, you and I."

Here it comes, thought Lyle. The old hack was finally going to spill exactly why he had deigned to speak with a lowly, parentless squib. "And what goals would those be?"

"Why, getting rid of those pesky GN drives, o' course."

That made Lyle do a bit a double take. Wizards had never been worried about muggle technology before. Not even nukes. What was it about GN drives in particular that had the Wizarding public concerned? He thought about for a few seconds, before an involuntary snicker began to come out of his nose. Oh, this was _too rich_. "The GN particles somehow affect your magic, huh?" Lyle's snicker evolved into a throatier chuckle. "And I should care...why, exactly?"

"That muggle agency--A-Laws--they're usin' 'em, yeah? The enemy of my enemy is my friend, and all that."

It was all starting to make sense now. "Let me guess: You want me to provide the Ministry with inside information about the inner workings of Katharon, because the main bases are all located in the Middle East. And no wizarding operatives are willing to go there on account of the place being covered with GN particles, and their magic would stop working. Maybe even permanently."

Sean eyed him warily. "You're a bright one," he said. "It's a real shame you 'n you're brother weren't born with the gift."

Lyle gave him a half-smile. "The gift didn't help when the magical members of my family were blown to smithereens." His words were harsh, but Lyle said them matter-of-factly. He didn't like to live in the past, but had no trouble learning from it.

"Yes, well--magic can't solve everything," said Sean, a little sadly, running a trembling hand through his wild, graying hair.

"Which brings us to the problem at hand."

"I suppose so."

Lyle stopped smiling. "My answer is no."

"...No?"

"You heard me. My loyalty lies with Katharon. And, even if was planning to play informant, I wouldn't do it for the sake of your kind." Lyle began to walk out of the alley, nearly brushing shoulder with Sean. But he stopped when he was almost at the street, saying, "Do you have any information?"

Even though his back was turned so that he couldn't see Sean's expression, Lyle could _hear _the scowl when the man said, "I don't."

"Well then, I guess this is goodbye," he said, giving Sean a little wave with the back of his hand. "Thanks for wasting my time." Then, just as he heard the subtle _swish _of a wand being flourished through the air, Lyle whipped around, producing his handgun, and pulled the trigger. The man collapsed onto the damp gravel with a mighty yell of pain, using one of his hands to clutch the other, blood oozing through his fingers and staining them red. Sean's wand skittered across the ground, and Lyle walked to pick it up, snapping it in two with a resounding crack.

"That was a stupid thing to do," said Lyle, dropping the two pieces of what had once been a wand onto the gravel. He then reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out his cellphone, dialing the Federation code for emergency services.

"_Please state the nature of the emergency."_

"Hello, Kimberly. There's been a shooting down at LaGrange and Jennings, and a man is injured. Could you please send an ambulance?"

"_We'll send one as soon as we can, sir. Can I please get your name?"_

"Sean Finnegan."

"_Thank you, Mr. Finnegan._"

He hung up, pocketing the cell-phone once more, and beg_a_n once more to walk out of the alley. He ignored the grunts of "fucking squib" coming from behind him, until they were gone entirely. Eventually, he found a nice, cozy-looking pub, and ordered himself a tall, frothy glass of beer. He generally wasn't one for drinking during a mission, but since the mission had turned out to be bogus, he figured that it wasn't too terrible of a sin.

As he sipped the drink, savoring the cold slide of it down his throat, he found himself looking forward to going back to the desert. Sure, it was a wasteland. But it was warm, and it was dry, and all of his companions were there.

The added bonus was that there were no wizards in the desert. And that thought, coupled the with beer, made him smile. If only just a little.


End file.
